


And So I Wait.

by dogstar_corona



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Beverley Katz is alive, Crossover, Hannibal Season 01 Spoilers, Hannibal Season 2 Spoilers, M/M, More canon divergence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural season 9 spoilers, Team Sassy Science, hannibal level violence and gore, questionable psychotherapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogstar_corona/pseuds/dogstar_corona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started out as a gruesome animal attack in the heart of Shenandoah National Park turns into a horror from the darkest part of Will's imagination.  </p><p>Enter two people who have answers no sane man ever dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 _Shenandoah National Park, Virginia._  
  
It took a few minutes for Will Graham to process the horror that he saw among the trees when he arrived at the crime scene. He blamed that on the lack of coffee in his system, and not the carnage a few feet away strewn across the forest floor. The man was thankful it was one of those mornings that he hadn't had time for breakfast. As it was, last nights meal was threatening to make a rude revisit all over his shoes.  
  
Agent Jack Crawford made his way through the scrub over to Will, “Hell of a way to start the afternoon. Forensics is still processing the scene. Forest rangers got a call about a missing hiker this morning. It didn't take them long to track him from his tent to this place. ” Jack nodded in the direction of the rangers being interviewed by one of the field agents. “We have people looking at his grounds, but there's no sign of struggle. His tent was left open and we found a roll of toilet paper nearby. Looked like he started to run while relieving himself last night.” He motioned to Will to follow him with a gloved hand and they walked to where agents Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, and Brian Zeller were crouched over a few segments of the body. It looked to be the lower jaw of the victim laying near the spinal column. The tongue was still attached to the mandible, making the thing look like an obscene oyster.  
  
Around them other agents were marking the places where the other pieces had been found, but they did not touch anything. That would wait until Jack gave the word that they were clear to do so. They had a system while working for Jack, and the system was to let Will Graham do his 'spooky profiler thing' before they disturbed the body. They had to leave the crime scene as untouched as possible before that happened.  
  
Price looked up as the two men approached, and stood up. He made to put his hands on his back to crack it from hunching over the ground for so long, then remembered the blood on his gloves and thought better of it. “I'd say it was an animal, Jack, but it's too savage, if that's even possible. It doesn't even look like anything was eaten. Not even by scavaging animals.” Zeller rose alongside his partner and nodded. “Just from looking at the pieces I can see there are no teeth marks. Definitely no knife marks but something tore at him. It was like this poor bastard was ripped apart.”

Beverly looked up at the men from where she crouched. “I can't tell you anything more until we get back, but I agree. I can't say what dismembered the victim like this, but it was not a bear attack. Bears do not do this kind of damage.”  
  
They all looked to Will as he examined the corpse scattered across the grove and waited expectantly. It already appeared as though his focus was far away, and Jack whistled to the other field agents. “All right people, you know the drill. Keep back from the area until I say otherwise.” He adjusted his fedora as he stepped away from the scene, and out of Will's field of view.  
  
In Will's mind the pendulum swung. Each pass wiped time away, reverting the scene to before the moment of death. His inner eye observed a man running frantically through the woods in the moonlit night, the shadow of the trees limbs seemed to claw at the runner to hold him back.  
  
And then the fingers of those shadows caught him.  
  
“I have him” Will said to himself as he watched the shadows lift the screaming man up off the forest floor. “I have him and he is ours. No....he is mine. I look at him and see softness, weakness, nothing I should fear at all. Nothing that I respect. Nothing worth keeping. I have him, but he is not what I want. So I will be rid of it.”  
  
High above the ground the claws rip into the meat of the man and tear him apart. The screams echo across the canopy and die moments after he rained down in pieces to the ground like a child's broken toy.  
  
“This is my design.”

                                                                                                     -----------------------

“Will!” The voice followed the shake to his shoulders, and he looked up to see Jack's face close to his own. The dark brown eyes of the lead investigator were full of concern.  
  
Will blinked owlishly behind his glasses at the other man. “What happened?” he asked, and frowned at the unexpected painful rasp of his voice.  
  
“What happened is that you stared catatonic up at the trees before you started screaming! I think one of the field agents pissed himself with the noise you made.” Jack stepped back and ran a hand over his face as he collected himself. “I was afraid you wouldn't snap out of it, then Alana was going to have my ass for breaking you.”  
  
“She _is_ scary, Jack.” Will huffed, and some of the tension eased. He looked around and noticed the startled faces of the other agents. Wonderful; this is going to be fantastic for his reputation as the 'crazy profiler' back at the academy. He heard Jack bark the order for the field agents to process the scene in full then turned back to Will and lead him away from the commotion.  
  
“You're not driving back, Will.” Jack said softly once they were out of earshot of the others. “I swear to God I have never, ever seen you pull that kind of shit before,” he held up his hands as Will began to speak, “I know you feel fine now, but I can't say the same for later. There's looking at the scene the way you do, then there's checking out of reality. I'm not going to risk your safety, and the safety of the people on the road today.”

“Fine, Jack, I'll let you take me home when we're done here.” As annoyed as Will was in having to wait for a ride, he saw the point. He could never forgive himself if he suffered a flashback while driving that caused an accident and hurt someone...or worse. Thank god Wolf Trap wasn't far from the national park.

Satisfied for the moment, Agent Crawford finally seemed to let the last of the tension leave him. “Good. Just from looking at this, I can see that this is too violent for the Chesapeake Ripper, unless he's changed his game to throw us off. Do you think you're able to tell me what you saw? Are we going to find any evidence up in those branches?” He glanced up at the canopy of birches that were misted with red.  
  
Will shook his head, and looked at the gore painted bark. “I don't know. Jack, it wasn't an animal, but...” he closed his eyes and winced. It was as though something was blocking his memory of what he had seen in his mind. He sighed and shook his head. “It just doesn't make any sense. I'm sorry.”

The other man pursed his lips and nodded once. “Can you talk to Dr. Lecter? Maybe he can help you remember what you saw. And I would feel better if you spoke to him.”

“I see him tomorrow anyway.”  
  
“Thank you, Will.” Jack said, then started to make his way back to the crime scene. Will leaned back against his car and ran his hands through the dark curls of his hair, before he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Hannibal was going to have his hands full with him tomorrow, if Will could remember what he 'saw'.  
  
With his eyes shut that was when Will finally keyed in on why this whole place set his teeth on edge.  
  
The area of the forest they were in was silent. There were no birds, no crickets, not even the chatter of a chipmunk. Save for the noise of the other people around him, the surrounding forest was unnaturally still. Will felt a chill crawl up his spine that had nothing to do with the crisp Autumn weather.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wolf Trap, Virginia_  
  
The sheets were stressed to the point of ripping where Will gripped them. His mind recoiled from the horror of the nightmare and shocked him awake. For a few moments he didn't know where he was, but only that he was surrounded in shadow. His shaking body panted for air, great bellows that never seemed to be enough for his lungs. As Will tried to stretch his legs out he underestimated the tension in the calves, and gave himself a double dose of 'charlie-horse' for his attempt. The pain brought him fully into this world from the fugue of the dream-state, and he cursed into his pillow before willing his muscles to relax.  
  
Thanks to his unorthodox application of his empathy to his job, Will was no stranger to nightmares. This time it was different. His mind locked away the contents of the dream in a dybbuk box in his consciousness, never to be opened or the evil trapped inside would ruin him. His empathy, though debilitating at times, was essential to Will as it was what he used to get into the head of the victims, and their killers. If he could not recall what he had gleaned by reaching out with his senses into the crime scenes, then the tortuous aftermath was for nothing.  
  
Will sat slouched on the bed when the muscles finally relaxed. It was when he finally surveyed the damage to the sodden sheets that he heard the whimper come from the corner in his room. Buster was cowering in the corner, eyes wide and full of fear. Panic rolled down Will's back and he glanced around quickly to see what had the stray's attention, but he found nothing. He realized with a sick roll in his stomach that the little dog was afraid of _him._  
  
“Hey buddy, come here.” a hand patted the bed, but the small dog huddled further into the corner. Sighing, Will slid off the bed down onto the floor and got on all fours, holding his hand out again. He tried to look as unimposing as possible, but waited for Buster to make the first move.

  
Finally, with a few false starts, the dog approached and sniffed Will's hand. The man smiled and rewarded the scruffy brown mutt with a scratch behind the ear. Satisfied for the moment, he sat back and rubbed a hand down his face and scratched his thinly bearded chin.  
  
What the hell was going on?  
  
******  
  
_Quantico, Virginia._  
  
“Hi Will. Man, you look like shit!”  
  
“Hi to you Bev.” Will bit back. He was really not in the mood for snark, friendly or otherwise. Beverly Katz wisely decided to steer clear of the 'what crawled up your ass' retort she was planning. For all the dogs he owned, Will could be feistier then a wet cat when he was grumpy enough.  She stood by as Price and Zeller examined the remains from Shenandoah National Park. Under the bright antiseptic lights in the forensic labs the team searched for their answers to the mystery in front of them. The other two men were so engrossed in conversation they didn't notice Will when he came in the room, and Beverley took advantage of the moment to join her friend. She brushed a lock of hair out of scrutinizing almond eyes and frowned as she took stock of Will's more-then-usual haggard appearance.  
  
“Sorry Will, but you don't look well. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”  
  
The man shrugged one shoulder as he glanced over at the mess on the exam table. “I don't know. I feel exhausted, but I slept all night. Had one hell of a dream, but for the life of me I can't remember it. It must have been bad though; Buster usually tries to wake me up when I have a nightmare, and he was crying in the corner instead. Shouldn't have had that burrito the night before, I guess.” Beverly gave a small, warm smile at the attempt at humour as she heard Jack enter the room from behind.  
  
“What do we have on our victim?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing other then what we found at the scene and at his camp site.” she replied. “John Holder; a twenty-six year old Caucasian male. There are no prints that aren't Holder's on any of the articles we found. No murder weapon. There are also no teeth marks on any piece of the body, so this was not an animal attack. Obviously the rangers wouldn't call us in for one, so we're in the dark about who, or what, killed him.”  
  
“Hey, you guys wanna see something interesting?” Zeller called over his shoulder. The three agents approached the table and Price held up a pair of tweezers that gripped a small, bloody shard of matter.  
  
“It's a splinter of wood. Tiny thing too. It was lodged in a piece of his heart.” The blonde peered at the object. “It's like a tiny Van Helsing stabbed him with little wooden stakes inside his aorta.” Price mused as he looked over the gory sliver.  
  
Zeller nodded. “The splinters are everywhere there is damage to the body. At first glance I would say these were caused by being near an explosion where there was a lot of timber, but as we know, there was nothing like that there.” He gripped the table in frustration as he frowned at the body. “I'm absolutely stuck as to what could have caused this. Sometimes you see this sort of damage when there's been an explosion where there's a lot of wood around. Even with anything stronger then an EF2 tornado you'll have wood turned into projectiles that'll tear through a mobile home, nevermind a human body. But there were no explosions near the area and the sky was clear that night. The rangers even said that they saw no fresh bear tracks at the scene.” He turns to Will. “Please tell me you have something that I can go on. We can't list 'bear-nado' as the cause of death.”  
  
“It would make a great movie, though” mused Price. Zeller nodded with a grin and was stopped by Jack's scowl before he could reply. The lead agent knew full well that those two would discuss ideas and plot a movie over their break, God help him.  
  
Will felt three pairs of eyes on him and suddenly remembered a moment in elementary school. He had to stand in front of his class and give a memorized report on box turtles. It was horrifyingly awkward, and he had forgotten his speech a few lines in. The current moment and the one over 3 decades ago felt eerily similar. Except at that moment in the lab he wasn't wearing 'osh-kosh' jeans with a river stone in a pocket.  
  
“There was nothing that gave me any clues as to the motive of the killer, if there is one at all. I'll need anything you can give me on what you found. Maybe that will cause something to pop out out me. But I'm as lost about this as you guys are.” he sighed. He looked anywhere but at Jack, not wanting to see the frustrated discouragement.  
  
“So this has nothing to do with the Ripper.” Jack said. “If it was a murder at all. Even I can say it's not him. He usually goes for a pretentious artistic display, not pure chaos.” He sighed, knowing that they were momentarily at a dead end. “I'm going to call the ranger station and have them go over with me again why they thought BAU should be looking into this. If they're lucky, I won't give them a piece of my mind for wasting our time. I hate to say it, but I don't want to be tied up with this case longer then necessary with the Chesapeake Ripper still out there. I'll try to pass this off to another team if we can.” With that, Jack turned and left the lab.  
  
After a moment of quiet, Price cleared his throat. “So Zeller, you got a screen-play in mind for Bear-nado?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! The Christmas season is ludicrous for an artist, and I'm just wrapping up a few commissions as well as repainting the apartment. Just...Ugh! Nuts! I'm still working on a tattoo design, and trying to get some paintings done so bear with me here. Hopefully there won't be a huge gap between chapters 2 and 3.
> 
> I keep getting kudos for this, and I thought if people are reading it, maybe I should continue the story.  
> Thank you to everyone that did that. They always make my day. :)
> 
> And yes, the Winchesters are coming. It'll just take a few chapters. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

   
  
Hannibal felt like a schoolboy again, insofar that he was bored out of his mind. Every time he surreptitiously checked his clock the minutes seemed to tick backwards from the end of the hour. At this moment Mrs. Margaret Genner was droning on about her guilt for her second affair on her frequently absent husband. Hannibal knew she was lying about the guilt; she only wanted to appear remorseful to maintain appearances. A formal act of mea culpa based on false contrition for being caught by her husband with their chauffeur in the marital bed.

  
Hannibal was imagining a beautiful roast of leg joint (graciously, if posthumously, provided by Margaret) when the clock gently chimed seven times.

  
“I'm afraid that's all for today, Mrs Genner.” said Dr. Lecter. The woman nodded, noting with barely concealed approval at his grace as her psychiatrist rose from his chair. She did not note the glint of the hungry predator in his maroon eyes. Margaret had no idea how fortunate she was; Hannibal had bigger game just beyond the door in the waiting lounge. When Margaret finally departed through the patients' only exit, Hannibal took a moment to adjust his tie before opening the door to the lounge. There Will Graham stood inside, punctual for his standing appointment at seven o'clock. With a rare smile, the doctor stepped back to let his friend inside for the last session of the night.

Hannibal enjoyed saving the best for last.  
  
“Good evening, William.” he said.  
  
“Dr. Lecter,” Will returned the greeting with a nod.  
  
Hannibal had noticed the dynamic between them had changed since Will's release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. From colleagues in Jack Crawford's investigations, to friends, to what was beginning to become something _other_ for the doctor. He held a foolish hope that this might one day be a mutual thing, but at this point he was more then content to keep it asa friendship along with their patient/doctor relationship.

As they settled in their respectable seats across from one another, Hannibal's thoughts drifted to his physical relationship with Alana Bloom, his one time protege and Will's friend. Instead of finding fulfillment, it seemed almost like a stepping stone to something else. It was like an itch in the middle of his back that he couldn't quite reach. Only in Will's company could he find that relief, and it was something he was starting to crave in the man's absence. Before, his 'hunting' had satisfied that need, and now he was so close to having both he could taste it. But Hannibal had to pace himself. Will was starting to see things his way, and after the man had made such beautiful art out Randal Tier, the profiler’s metamorphosis was nearing completion.  
  
What would emerge from that cocoon of flannel and denim would be glorious to behold.

But that conundrum would have to wait for another time.  
  
“So Will, Jack continues to use your gifts out in the field, even though Dr. Chilton has been caught.”  
  
“Chilton may be in custody as the Chesapeake Ripper, but Jack isn't completely convinced he's the killer. I think he's making sure the case is closed. Especially after what happened with Miriam Lass.”  
  
“Understandably,” nodded Hannibal. “I doubt Jack would want to make the same mistakes again, or repeat Dr. Chilton's error and capture the wrong man.”  
  
Will nodded in agreement with a small smile. “No, he wouldn't want that.”  
  
“How does it make you feel that Dr. Chilton has been arrested, Will?”  
  
It did not go unnoticed to Will that Hannibal avoided calling Frederick Chilton 'The Chesapeake Ripper'. The man grinned inwardly at the gaffe. _Hannibal, you are so transparent when you think you're being clever._ “I am happy that Jack's focus is no longer on the Ripper. I want to put this part of my life behind me and move forward. I can never teach again, but I'm still of some use and Jack is definitely making sure that he is using me.” he said with a small chuckle at the end. Will casually sat back in his seat.  
  
“How does it make you feel that the Chesapeake Ripper has been caught, Hannibal?”  
  
The doctor didn't miss a beat in his reply. “I find it unfortunate that Dr. Chilton chose Abel Gideon as his final victim. They would have been able to compare notes on what it was like to be called the Chesapeake Ripper. I will have to make time to visit him. Maybe I can help him. As for my opinion on the matter, I'm also glad that Jack's focus is mostly off the Ripper case. I will miss the intrigue, but for your health I'm glad they're over with. It certainly gives me enough material to write a book on the Ripper. A nice companion piece to Dr. Chilton's books on Abel Gideon.”

Will observed Hannibal's proud monologue, and noted that once again he refused to name Frederick as the Chesapeake Ripper. Either Hannibal knew that Dr. Chilton wasn't the Ripper. Or he knew who the killer really was.

“And what about the case you're working on now, Will? Jack called me earlier, wanting me to let him know that you saw me today. Something about how you analyzed the crime scene shook him up a bit.” asked Hannibal. It brought Will's mind back to the room, then sent it out again to the forest as he tried to recall what had happened. The cat-and-mouse game was over for the night, and now they were down to the reason Will was there.

He shook his head with a frown. “Jack said I was screaming and catatonic while I looked over the crime scene. The screaming is definitely new; that's never happened before. I also can't remember what I saw when I looked at the crime scene. It's like there's a wall between me and my memories of the place. I may have also had a nightmare that night. I don't remember it, but it must have been a bad one. It looked like I ripped the sheets in my sleep. And one of my dogs was cowering in the corner. Just...thank god I don't sleepwalk anymore.”

“Perhaps I should come with you if there is another murder linked to this case. If you should have another episode, I can help you stay grounded, and perhaps help you recall what you've deduced from the crime-scene.”

“What about your other clients?"

“I can reschedule them. It would be an emergency, after all. A police investigation should come first, should it not?” replied Hannibal.  
  
At the end of Will's session, they shook hands before Will left the office. And if Hannibal held his friend's hand for a beat longer then normal, neither man made a comment on it.

In the end the victim was passed off as nothing more sinister then a bear attack. Then a second corpse  appeared the following week impaled on a sapling through the mouth and out the backside, as though the tree grew through him overnight as he slept.  
  
By the evening of the victim's discovery, 'Tattlecrime' had leaked to its readers that another series of murders was baffling Agent Jack Crawford and his team, including the notorious agent-turned-ex-con, Will Graham.

As he read the article on his tablet, Hannibal mused on what wine he should pair with a certain fiery redhead reporter, and whether he should invite Will over for the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't be posting this at 6:30 in the morning. I really, REALLY hope I plugged some holes in continuity. The story is unbeta'ed so all mistakes are mine. If you see anything weird, let me know in the comments.
> 
> Also, yay for not taking another four months for a post! Go me! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Winchesters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, I'm back! The arts and crafts fair was a complete success. Yay! Now to write, you lovely people. :3
> 
> Thank you for being so patient and for all the hits, bookmarks, and notes. That's keeping me going with this thing. I need a kick in the butt when my brain thinks that I can't write worth crap. 
> 
> Happy Solstice everyone!

  
  
The odour of strong coffee woke Sam that morning, and he rolled over with a groan and a creak to the bed-frame. His body felt battered. Now that the angel Gadreel had been expelled from his body thanks to Crowley (and he had no desire to owe the king of hell for _that_ favour), Sam ached all over. Apparently Sam's healing had not been completed before the angel had been evicted from his body.

  
His very soul seemed to hurt from the trials he had endured to seal Hell. It was all for nothing anyway; Dean had intervened at the last moment to save his brother from the kamikaze mission, and convinced Sam not to finish the final Trial. It turned out that even without completing the final Trial, it had practically killed him anyway. The pain slapped him with the memory of Dean's confession that he tricked Sam to accepting Gadreel into possessing him and avoid dying, rather then following Death into final, peaceful rest that he definitely deserved.  
  
It made Sam sore, tired, and very cranky.  
  
This meant that the scent of blueberry pancakes along with the coffee was Dean's peace offering, again. Well, thought Sam, it would take more then a good breakfast to make things right between the two brothers. With a fortifying breath he sat up and got ready to face the day.  
  
++++

  
Dean stacked the blueberry buttermilk pancakes on a plate before setting it on the wooden table nearby. The Men of Letters bunker was old, but it was a classy sort of old that hinted at a time when men smoked cigars, and wore fedoras without being ironic douche-bags. Sam, the nerd he was, told Dean that the place was heavily influenced by Art Deco. At the time Dean's blank stare prompted the prophet Kevin to put it in a way Dean could relate to. If compared to Lord of the Rings, Art Deco was to the Dwarves what Art-Nouveau was to the Elves. It was cool when put that way. Dean read up on the two art movements after the explanation piqued his interest, but now everywhere he looked reminded him of their dead friend, literally killed by Gadreel's hands in Sam's body.  
  
He knew why Sam had given him the cold shoulder and knew another awesome breakfast wouldn't cut the mustard as an apology, but he wasn't about to say he was sorry. Dean had bit his tongue against apologizing for the past week. To force Sam's hand to choose Dean over the peace Death offered was a choice he would make again. It was damn selfish on Dean's part, he would admit that, but he still saved Sam's life. Even if the fallout from Gadreel riding around in Sam's body wasn't what he asked for. The death of the prophet Kevin still stung; the poor kid never had a chance to go to college like he wanted. And Dean knew Sam blamed himself for it, regardless that it was the angel inside him that killed Kevin.  
  
The week of silent treatments and avoidance from his little brother was better then him being outright dead, but it had to end. It was irritating the older brother to the point where he was about to lose his mind. This morning Dean would focus on bringing Sam back to good health, and that started with a great breakfast.  
  
The other half of the plan was distraction, and that would be accomplished with a potential case he had found this morning.

 

The sleepy, grumpy giant that was Dean's brother stumbled through the entry into the Bunker's kitchen, and Dean doled out pancakes from the stack and placed sweetened coffee at Sam's usual place at the table. “I hope your hungry! We have a case.” he grinned as he plonked down into his own seat.  
  
“A case,” Sam echoed with a blink. “Are you kidding? I still feel like I've been hit like by a train.”  
  
“Which is why I'll drive while you sleep. Campers are showing up dead in Shenandoah Park, and the FBI are clueless as usual. Probably some pissed off pagan spirit or wood nymph or something. We gank it, then be on our way. Easy as pie.” Dean grabbed the tablet on the table and called up the article on TattleCrime.com before passing it to Sam. With a sigh the man ran his fingers through his chestnut hair and scanned the article.  
  
“They've found two bodies, and FBI and park rangers claim the first one is a bear attack. But the guy was ripped apart from the looks of these photos.” Sam squinted at the definitely-not-for-public-consumption photo that was covertly taken by the reporter for TattleCrime. Dean stamped down his excitement from seeing Sam take an interest. “You may be right Dean, that's no bear. Werewolves don't do this kind of damage and it was the wrong moon for them to turn. Wendigos just take their prey back to the lair. Honestly, I don't know anything off hand that would cause this kind of massive destruction. And this Freddie Lounds says the next victim was...ew...impaled through the rectum and out the mouth with a living sapling that was still rooted in the ground.” Dean winced at Sam's retelling, despite having seen the photos earlier.  
  
Sam slid the table back to his brother and sat back in his seat. “Call another hunter to take care of it.”  
  
The older man groaned, gripping his short blond hair in frustration. “Come on, Sammy! We have nothing going on right now, and I'm about to lose my shit being cooped up in here!”  
  
“Dean...I don't want to work a case with you. I don't trust you. You _lied_ to me.”  
  
And there it was. The proverbial elephant in the room. Dean started into his own stack of pancakes to distract himself from the growing anger he felt at the situation. “Sam, we've been stuck in here with nothing to do for over a week. Just staring at the walls. It's driving me nuts, man. We need a case to get back to normal.” Dean was _not_ going to bring up that he was so damn tired of the daily bitch-face from his brother, ungrateful little ass-hat that he was.  
  
“Then go without me.” Sam grumbled.  
  
“Come on! We need to put this whole shit-storm behind us.” Dean took a deep, calming breath and tried to center himself. Sam was impressed by his brother's effort to not explode and storm off. “Look,” Dean continued evenly, “Baltimore is 10 hours away. We can make it in a day if we start first thing tomorrow morning. We'll use the rest of the day to do research and pack for the trip. You can even ignore me until tomorrow.”  
  
Sam frowned, his dark mood looming in the back of his mind, and he stabbed into his pancakes like it had personally offended him. His knife squeaked against the antique plate with the pressure he cut into breakfast. “I can barely stand to look at you right now. What makes you think I'll sit beside you in the car for 10 hours?”

“I'll let you pick the music.”  
  
Sam's brutalizing of the century-old dishware paused and he looked up at his brother. “You're serious.”  
“Yup.” Dean nodded. “Anything you want.” At the pause and frown of thought on his brother's face, Dean inwardly cheered at the headway he was finally making. Maybe Sam could eventually forgive him after all.  
  
“And if I don't want to hear your mullet-rock?” the younger man asked.  
  
“Then I won't play it. Scout's honour.” Dean held up his hand in a vow.  
  
Sam licked his lips for a moment as he mulled it over. After a few moments, he nodded as he accepted Deans sacrifice. “Then I want my own music, there and back. And you won't know ahead of time what's on the playlist. Those are the terms.” Sam said. _Bingo,_ thought Dean, and he nodded in agreement. When Sam gave a jackal's grin to the other man, he started to think that maybe he made a mistake.  
  
When Lady Gaga's 'Telephone' blasted from his baby's speakers at six a.m. as they rolled out of the hidden garage, Dean knew the next ten hours were going to be agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art Nouveau = elves, and Art Deco = dwarves isn't mine, but it's brilliant. This observation would have really helped me out on tests in art history.
> 
> So if you're studying art and have to tell the difference between the two for a test, keep that in mind. ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...sorry for being away for so long >_<

The black Chevy Impala that pulled into the motel on the edge of Baltimore in the evening carried two silent, cranky men. The 'drive Dean nuts with music' game had stopped being fun a few hours ago, and Sam was bone tired and sore all over. Dean was sullen because Sam was sullen, and because he knew Sam hurt everywhere just from the drive. If they survived to old age Dean was certain he was looking at what Sam would be like as a senior, and it wouldn't be pretty.

Dean, still having a bit of compassion left for his baby brother after enduring two Taylor Swift albums and a Lady Gaga mix during the drive, left Sam as he went to get a room for them. He returned and drove the car around to their unit, then pulled and brought in everything from the car. He saved his brother for last, who was dozing in his seat.

“Come on, you yeti,” he groused as he helped Sam out of the car and into the room. Dean steered the other man towards the nearest bed, where Sam flopped down and passed out. Heaving a sigh, Dean pulled some heavy-duty painkillers from their med kit and woke his brother long enough to take them before lying down on the opposite bed. 

God, his back was killing him tonight.

Mossy green eyes studied the dusty stucco ceiling of the 50's style room. Maybe it was a mistake to drag Sam to this case. A quick glance over confirmed that Sammy had passed out on top of the sheets, right where he had left him. Usually one of them would be grabbing some food from the nearest diner while the other set up home base. Now they lay there like two slugs. If Bobby was still alive, he would have rolled his eyes at the pair of them.

Well, the food wasn't going to deliver itself, and Dean was hungry. No doubt Sam would be too after he woke from the nap he was taking. Dean sat up, rolled his stiff shoulders, and left quietly to scrounge some grub for the pair of them.

++++

Sam roused to the smell of charred, greasy meat and the rustling of paper. He opened his eyes and saw his brother munching on his burger as he read something on the laptop screen.

“There's a salad and bottle of water in the bag for you, Sammy.” After spending so many years together, Dean could tell whether his brother was awake or not just by the sound of his breathing.

Sam rubbed at his face and got up to join Dean at the table. A quick glance at the screen saw the TattleCrime website was up and Dean was reading up on their case. “Find anything?” Sam asked.

“Nothing new since yesterday. This Freddie Lounds seems really obsessed with a guy named Will Graham. I've checked a few articles of hers that Will's tagged in and the guy is a magnet for crazy shit. He's also seen a lot with a shrink named Hannibal Lecter.”

Sam nodded as he swallowed his fork-full of salad. “Does she think they have anything to do with this case?”

“Too early to tell. You have to read between the lines with this chick's articles, but she seems to think so. Even with Will being the only one of the two at the scene, she thinks Hannibal's involved somehow. Personally, with the almost obsessed way she writes about them, I think she 'ships' those dudes.” Dean pushed the laptop towards Sam. “I can't look at this anymore tonight. I'll look at it with fresh eyes in the morning. I'm thinking that we start with Freddie, see what she has on the double murders in the woods, and if we can weed out her favourite duo as suspects.”

“Sounds like a good idea, Dean. There's an email or phone number to contact Lounds, right? A reporter looking for the latest story usually has some sort of reliable contact info.” Sam turns the laptop and starts scrolling through the page.

“Already on it, dude. And I have a plan.” Dean grinned. “I'm going to call her tomorrow morning and say I'm with Fish and Wildlife, and just need some information. I'll claim the FBI is giving me the run around with the intel. Meanwhile, you're staying behind and resting up. This job is probably going to involve some hiking in the woods before we're done.”

The next morning Dean was on the phone contacting Freddie and she, either convinced or intrigued by his need to meet her, agreed to a late afternoon conversation at a coffee bar downtown. Dean betted on her curiosity for the reason she agreed; it wasn't exactly his best lie. He would have to bring his A-game if he wanted to make this meeting productive.

In a city so close to Quantico and even closer to Washington, they decided that holding off on posting as FBI to interview the victims' relatives might be the smart way to go until they had more information. If Freddie could give them leads without them having to risk arrest by impersonating a federal officer, so much the better. Dean not wanting his baby brother in a jail cell while he recovered from near death was left unsaid, but definitely implied. So they spent their time until Dean's rendezvous in the motel researching the lore of Shenandoah and the surrounding area, trying to find something they had missed in their research.

Around mid-afternoon, Sam yawned and stretched in his seat while the other man got up and started getting ready. He didn't need a suit for this interview, so it wasn't long before Dean was grabbing his keys off the table. “Time to meet April O'Neil. Wish me luck Sammy!” He ruffled Sam's hair as the younger made a face at the nickname, then left. As the engine roared from beyond the door, Sam finally got up and searched for the painkillers. Maybe he had time to grab a quick nap before Dean returned. The very last thing he wanted was to show more weakness around Dean then he already was. The coddling and the not so hidden looks of guilt from his brother weren't helping the situation or his anger. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets with Freddie Lounds. 
> 
>  
> 
> (( holy crap, it's a new chapter! Since the last time I posted, I resolved to rewatch season 9 of Supernatural, and season 2 of Hannibal. It took a while to get there (mostly because I'm watching supernatural with a good friend and we JUST got past the part of season 9 where this story diverges.).
> 
> This chapter was a bitch to write. Freddie and Dean are pretty savvy in interviews, and I'm really hoping I did this well. I'm not entirely happy with it, so feedback would be appreciated. ))
> 
>  
> 
> .

“No.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not.” The woman shook her head and the tight red curls bounced on her shoulders from the action. She sat back as her arms crossed in front of her in a grass green blazer, ready to end the incipient meeting. Around them, the local cafe bustled with mid-afternoon activity. People were focused on their laptops, struggling to create the next sensational novel or screenplay. Bored baristas rang in orders and created artisinal, fair trade, cruelty free, perfectly percolated orders that Dean was sure would put his brother in fru-fru coffee heaven. The woman across from him certainly had a fancy enough drink, if the price he had to pay for it was any indication. God, it seemed they put 'pumpkin spice' on everything these days. 

“Why not?” Dean frowned as he refocused on the journalist. He was so sure he had convinced her with his story of being cock-blocked by the FBI with investigating the crime-scene as a Fish and Wildlife officer. “What am I going to say to my boss?” 

“I'm doubting that you have one,” Freddie shrugged. “Believe me, I've heard better lies from my five year old nephew then what you just told me.” 

“So why did you say yes to meeting me, Ms. Lounds?” asked Dean. 

“To see if there was any more information you could give me, and to figure out what kind of angle you were fishing for with the story, if you were writing about it at all. Either way, it was in my best interest to see what you knew.” Freddie smiled.

Touche, he thought, and Dean inclined his head with an arched brow in acknowledgment. It was a good thing she was easy on the eyes, and that she had information that would make it much easier to continue with the case. Otherwise she would be really getting on his last nerves right now as she played hard to get with the details.

Freddie leaned forward, green eyes slightly narrowed as she scrutinized the man in front of her. “But you DO know something I don't. You're no writer, and you're definitely not an officer. I can tell that much. I haven't been a journalist this long without gaining a finely tuned bullshit detector.”

Dean leaned forward as he rested his hands on the table. “How about a game of quid pro quo? I tell you something, and you give me something in return? Within reason, of course,” he smiled

“Sounds fair.”

Dean gestured with his hand towards Freddie. “Ladies first.” 

She took a sip of her coffee and licked her lips. “Who are you really?”

Give a little, get a little, thought Dean. “I'm a kind of hunter. Sometimes I work with the police and whoever's in charge. Whatever will get me to whatever I'm trying to catch.” Man, Sammy would so have my nuts for giving him grief about sharing our job with the locals, and now I'm doing it now with a journalist! Dean mused. But Sam isn't here anyway, and it's not like she's going to believe me. Or prove that I'm right.

“Cryptids?” asked Freddie? 

He nodded and replied, “You would be surprised what's out there that people don't think exist.”

Freddie laughed. “Oh come on, you don't think that what happened in the woods is a bigfoot who likes to shishkabab it's victims, do you?”

“Bigfoot is a myth, and it's my turn to ask a question, Red.” countered Dean. “What do you think killed those two men in Shenandoah?”

“Not what, who. Have you heard of the Chesapeake Ripper, Mr. Kramer?” 

Dean thought back to the article as he took a sip of his black, non-froofy coffee. “He was a serial killer, right? Wasn't he caught recently?” 

Freddie nodded in response, clearly pleased that her 'coffee date' wasn't too idiotic. “The FBI officially named Frederick Chilton as the Ripper, but it isn't. And that's two, Joe. It's my turn, and I get one extra.” Dean sighed and acquiesced to her demand. “What have you hunted, and do you have any proof of what you've killed? If you can verify your claim, I'll interview you.”

Dean held up his hands and shook his head. “Oh no, lady, no interviews. Most people wouldn't believe me, and there's no need to do anything that'll frighten the muggles.” He turned his hands over, and shrugged off the suit jacket before rolling up the crisp blue sleeve. Underneath was a series of scars that made Freddie gape. “Wendigo claw, 2006.” His finger traced along the white line that lead to faint bite wounds from a large creature. “Kelpie, 2005. Damn thing nearly dragged me out into the middle of Lake Michigan.” 

Freddie peered closer at the wounds. “That looks like a bear attack, Mr. Kramer, not any supernatural creature.” 

“The rest is under the shirt, Freddie, but I'm not about to give a free show to the barista behind the corner.” 

The journalist peered around Dean's shoulder and smirked as her eyes shone in mischievous delight. “Good point, even though it would make his day.” Dean straightened up and gave a furtive glance behind him to the counter. Sure enough, the cute little blonde girl who gave him his order had been replaced by a twenty-something college guy who gave Dean a tiny, shy smile before he returned his attention to the coffee maker. Dean turned around quickly, his face brick red as he coughed into his hand in embarrassment. He looked up, and found Freddie was wholly entertained by his discomfort. “He's too young for you anyway, Joe,” she snickered.

Dean leaned over the table and hissed quietly at her. “I'm not gay...not that there's anything wrong with that!” She rolled her eyes at his distress. “Settle down, Romeo. I believe it's your turn now anyway.”

Dean collected himself as he rolled down and buttoned his sleeve, then met her green eyes as he took his turn. It was time to get serious. “Reading between the lines of your article, it sounds like the man responsible was at the scene of the crime in your photo... or their accomplice. Tell me about Will Graham and Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

Freddie narrowed her eyes. “That's not a question.” 

“Please?” Dean asked. He even added a touch of Sam's 'puppy eyes' that would always make other people melt and tell his brother everything, and Dean hated himself then for sinking so low. It seemed to work however, as Freddie sat back with a sigh. 

“Fine. But you owe me another coffee, because this is a long story.”

Long story was a huge understatement and after an hour and a refill of coffee for himself and Freddie, Dean's hand was cramping from the notes he was taking. It sounded like Special Agent Graham and Dr. Lecter had a seriously fucked up relationship. It was dangerously co-dependent, which he would know considering how many people thought that Dean and Sam were way too close for their own good. But while Sam and Dean were brothers, these two were so cozy in their friendship Freddie had started to suspect that they were lovers, or at least emotionally involved. Freddie didn't have proof, but she suspected that Dr. Lecter had orchestrated Dr. Chilton's set up and Jack Crawford had taken the bate hook, line, and sinker. Not only did this take everyone's eyes off Lecter as the Ripper, but it exonerated Will Graham in the process. Hannibal killed two birds with one stone in that maneuver, and now it was business as usual. Dr. Lecter would kill and set up the horrifying pieces of conceptual art sculpture and Will, as Hannibal's partner, would misdirect the FBI with no one the wiser, except Freddie.

“Of course, you would know all that if you read my other articles,” she said. Dean had a feeling that not everything she had said was what she had reported on. The journalist went on, “So you see why I think this involves those two instead of a Bigfoot with a crafting hobby.” 

“Well, I hate to admit it, but that crazy story makes more sense then what I’ve got,” he sighed as he started to fold his notes up. Not that he entirely believed it was two fucked up humans instead of the supernatural, but he wasn't about to reveal that. Not if he wanted to throw her off the trail for her own safety. “Well then, I guess there's nothing for me here. Sorry for wasting your afternoon, Ms. Lounds.” He said. As he stood Dean reached out with his hand to shake hers. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Oh, it wasn't a waste. It was free coffee with a beautiful man, Joe. Sometimes I need a little normality in my life.” She smiled, then shook his hand before giving him her business card. “If you have anything interesting to share about this case...or would like to meet up for a drink, look me up.”

“Oh, you can count on that, Freddie,” Dean winked. Maybe the afternoon hadn't been entirely wasted after all.


End file.
